


The Sorcerer's Curse

by SmashQ



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmashQ/pseuds/SmashQ
Summary: For Secret Santa 2019 on The Purple Mage Club Discord.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	The Sorcerer's Curse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Devkyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devkyu/gifts).



What was consciousness to the darkness of eternity? To Vaati it was a dreamless span of time, like blinking, or a mess of imagery before seeing nothing again. It all blurred together, the broken dreams his primary indicator of time’s passing.

His second method was far more reliable, but inconsistent. Whenever the seal weakened, he could sense the outside world. Those flashes of light and color were muted, but they existed all the same. He watched as the pillars that held the elements crumbled. He watched as vines and moss overtook the walls. He watched as the stones eroded and were replaced by the green of the forest. He watched as the light that filtered through the branches became more and more blotted out until shadows overtook the shrine, and a lesser darkness than his prison claimed it.

They still came to reapply the seal. He could feel it in the magic that periodically came in waves. There were colors, mostly seven but sometimes less. Yet, the seal never grew weaker despite few numbers.

Did they still speak of him, he wondered. Of the awesome power he wielded? Of the terror he caused?

He wanted to believe that they did, but time’s cruelty knew no bounds. Memories faded like wind worn cliffs, crumbling with every decade that passed. To say a moment would be remembered was a lie as the mind aged and the past became naught but fog and shards of a whole.

For the bound wind mage, memories meant nothing. After centuries of turning over the same pieces, searching for a scrap of who he was or who he used to be, he had grown bored. Eventually, those bits of himself wore away, too, until he was left with only two certainties.

One: he was the all-powerful wind sorcerer, Vaati, second to none. Even centuries after his sealing, the humans still feared his release.

And two: the blinding light that had sealed him had been wielded by one with a distinctive magical signature. One that always, without fail, came to the resealings. The name escaped him as many things did, but he knew when he was outside of his prison again, he would find them and _eradicate them_. Or their progeny. He wasn’t picky.

Nobody made a fool out of the great Vaati. _Nobody_.

Had he hundreds of years, a _thousand_ to wait before he could enact his revenge, then so be it.

He would gladly plan how to act against the sealer’s descendants in the meantime. With magic as strong as he felt, he doubted it would die out quickly.

Vaati couldn’t say when – it was a frivolous effort – but _that magic_ came again. And only that. The seal was not yet weak enough to call for the imbeciles to gather themselves here, so why--

Light filled his vision and his head.

/-/

Opening his eyes to color was a novel experience. Opening his eyes at all, however, was even more of a shock to his system than the cold that brushed against his skin. Slowly, he brought up a hand. Five fingers, claws of a demon at the end of each. Loose sleeves bunched up under his wrist, purple and stainless. Not even frayed at the edges.

Vaati looked himself over. Lavender hair covered one eye, his skin a bit darker than that. His clothes matched him well, comfortable and flowing. He had no footwear, but that was no worry. He commanded the wind; if he wished to float everywhere he went, then he very well would.

His form was odd, though. He felt as if he were missing appendages somehow, and the world around him seemed too tall. As a sorcerer of wind he should have been looking down at the trees, not up.

For that matter, nobody should have been looking _down_ at him either.

And yet, it was happening.

Vaati rushed to his feet, nearly stumbling from his lanky limbs. “Who are you?” he hissed, wincing when his voice came out as more of a croak. He dared not look away, however, from the stranger’s piercing red gaze.

“I am Sheik,” the masked youth greeted evenly, “and this is your second chance.”

Vaati stared for a moment, then burst out cackling. Somehow, his disused voice sounded far more sinister than he desired. “A second chance?” he scoffed. “The only chance I need is to turn you to stone!”

The wind mage lifted an arm, grinning victoriously. He pulled at the magic in his reserves and--

\--he couldn’t reach it.

He tried again, silently, glaring at the spandex-clad man in front of him. Vaati waved his arms in a grand, sweeping gesture going through motions and instincts long ingrained.

The breeze made his cape flutter.

And all this “Sheik” did was cross his arms and stand there patiently.

Vaati’s grin grew strained.

“What...did...you _do to_ _ **me**_ _?!_ ” he roared, straining his vocal cords to the point where he thought something snapped in his throat.

He didn’t care.

“The price for your release,” replied the pest, calm as ever. “If you show you can be trusted, then you will have your power returned to you.”

“You can’t do this!” he screeched discordantly. He didn’t care how strained his voice was or how much his throat hurt. This _imbecile_ had stolen away his hard-earned power! “I am Vaati, the greatest sorcerer of all time! You _will_ bow down to me!”

“No, I will not,” the _cretin_ replied simply. “No one will for as long as you keep chained by your hatred.”

With a vicious growl, Vaati pulled on his magic again, an action as natural as breathing, and once more met resistance. He could _feel_ it, it was _right there_ , but out of reach no matter how forcefully he pulled upon it.

Desperate, Vaati gave one last _yank_ \--

\--and immediately collapsed, agony lancing through his chest, crushing his lungs, and stealing his breath away. He grasped at his throat, gasping for air that would not come. Seconds lasted an eternity, until his chest loosened and he breathed in deeply, gulping down sweet cool air.

Seething and shuddering, Vaati turned his one eye, burning with loathing, towards the foul, lowly _human_.

He refused to believe that he was being looked at with _pity_.

“I’m sor--”

“Shut _up_!” Vaati snapped, voice ragged. “You _miserable_ excuse” – he coughed roughly, but refused to lose eye contact – “...I’ll kill you.”

Sheik had the audacity to nod, as if he knew this would be his reaction. Vaati’s blood boiled. “I’ll escort you to the castle. From there we can get a doctor--”

“No!”

“Okay. No doctor.” He paused, looking over the wind mage, then he turned and gestured forward. “Let’s go then.”

“And what makes you think I will just blindly follow you?” Vaati spat. His throat ached fiercely, but he refused to be pushed into another’s schemes.

Sheik turned his head and locked eyes with him. “The spell placed on you may only be lifted by one of royalty. If you do not wish to follow, that is your choice. However...” His eyes narrowed. “You will never regain access to your magic if you do.”

Vaati held his gaze, sneering. Conditional magic. He _hated_ conditional magic. By his own hand it was fine, but with such an inferior species in control of it… The very thought made him want to tear into the human before him with blades of wind.

Sheik did not look away.

After an agonizing time of thought, Vaati growled. It quickly grew in volume. “Fine!” he spat, as if it were a curse, then he stomped forward after the wretched human. Sheik broke eye contact and led the way.

Silently, Vaati made a vow to himself: whenever he regained his power, he would make every last pathetic mortal in this land _suffer_.


End file.
